A world eerily similar to Earth… yet distinctly different.
This was the Great Tiger Country, and its shimmering crown jewel was the city of Autumnvale—a sprawling metropolis of mirrored skyscrapers, digital billboards the size of buildings, and highways that roared with the breath of steel beasts.
In this city, money didn't talk—it ordered entire city blocks to kneel.
A white Rolls-Royce Phantom glided through the financial district like a shark in still waters. Behind it, two sleek black Mercedes-Benz sedans flanked the lead car—one ahead, one trailing. Perfectly synchronized. Obedient. Silent.
Inside the Phantom, the mood was... dense.
At the wheel sat David, the kind of man who hadn't smiled since his second divorce—and still held a grudge against seatbelts. He drove with unwavering focus, like every pothole was a landmine and every red light a test of loyalty. Olivia sat across him typing on a tablet with inhumane speed.
In the back sat Vincent Cornelius—arms crossed, brow locked in a scowl so powerful it might curd milk.
But let's clear one thing up: Vincent wasn't upset because he found out he had a son.
And he wasn't angry that said son had gotten his teeth knocked out at school.
No. That wasn't the problem.
The problem was that he had reincarnated.
Let me explain.
In my last life, I was also named Vincent, though without the surname since I was an orphan by birth. Though not as cool as the one I'd become. I was younger and ambitious, with a good job and a hot colleague who doubled as my stress relief. Damn, I even had fifty thousand dollars saved in my bank account—my pride and joy.
Then today, bam! I woke up in this parallel world, in the body of a rich, dashing thirty-seven-year-old. I had black hair like my last life, but my eyes this time, instead of black, were a striking blue. It was probably these eyes that gave me this handsome look.
I was one of the top ten wealthiest men in Autumnvale, patriarch of the Cornelius family, and a walking financial empire. By all logic, even if I had died unwillingly in some accident, I should've been ecstatic with my new position that gave me a chance to fulfill my wildest ambitions.
And for the first two hours, I was! I marveled at the thought of the blond women (who's name I still don't know) I bedded this morning, admired my parade of luxury cars, my diamond-made expensive watch, and spent twenty minutes just gaping at my nine-digit bank balance like some kind of financial pervert.
But then I reached the school. That's when things got… weird.
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Vincent soon reached his destination—the helipad. "Damn right," he muttered to himself. "Of course I have to take the school's helicopter to get there. Naturally, one of the best schools for the ultra-rich would be located somewhere ridiculously inaccessible."
As the helicopter lifted off, Vincent gazed down at the shrinking cityscape below. The irony wasn't lost on him—in his previous life, he'd dreamed of flying in private jets and helicopters. Now it was just Tuesday.
Celestial Academy, the most ridiculously fancy school you would ever see. Think about a massive castle sitting pretty on its own private island, complete with towers that sparkle like diamonds and gardens so perfect they make fairy tales jealous.
The whole island is basically a mini-city where everyone either studies, teaches, or serves tea (well, maybe more than just tea). Students strut around in designer uniforms that probably cost more than most people's cars, while teachers who used to run entire countries now argue about homework assignments. Talk about a career change!
Security guards were everywhere—EVERYWHERE. These guys could probably spot a fly trying to escape. The servants glide around like magical butlers, making everything look effortless while secretly judging you.
Nobody gets on or off this island without permission. No random pizza deliveries, no surprise visits from annoying relatives. It's like the ultimate boarding school experience, minus the terrible cafeteria food and plus a whole lot of facilities.
What exactly are they teaching here? Well, that's where things get interesting...
In a world where governments are just fancy letterheads and corporations are the real rulers, this academy teaches the truth behind the curtain. Your professors aren't just former CEOs—they're the puppet masters who make presidents dance and prime ministers beg.
Classes like "Shadow Economics" reveal how three mega-corporations actually control the global food supply. "Practical Governance" shows how to run countries through shell companies and offshore accounts. The history lessons? How the last "democratic" election was bought and paid for by your classmate's trust fund.
I stepped out of the helicopter, my expensive leather shoes clicking against the pristine helipad. I took a deep breath of the ocean air. A guide and a servant were already waiting to take me to my son, who was in the teacher's office.
I was just outside the office when I heard shouts coming from inside. I patted the guide's shoulder, who immediately stepped aside. I didn't open the door just yet. Instead, I decided to wait and listen. Without making me wait, the voice came again. Just listening to the voice somehow made me irritable and made me want to beat the person responsible for birthing him… It was my own son's voice.
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"Y-You lowly poor bastard, how dare you punch me!" came a voice through the door—clearly speaking through broken teeth. "Do you know who I am? Do you know my father? My grandfather?" Of course it was Lucas
"Of course I know," came another voice, younger but somehow carrying an authority that made Vincent's businessman instincts perk up. "How dare you threaten this venerab—ahem—this one with your measly family."
"Liam! What are you saying?!" A woman's voice, mature, desperate and panicked. "Son, why are you being like this today? Y-Young master, my son is ignorant, please forgive him."
"Mother, don't worry. This time it's this son's turn... to show filial piety to you."
Vincent stood outside the door, utterly dumbfounded. His ears remained alert, catching every word of the argument inside, but his eyes were fixed—staring at the intricately carved wooden door with a stunned expression, or so it appeared to those around him.
In truth, the situation had shaken him enough to crack the composure he wore like a second skin. What he saw before him looked like a holographic screen—hovering in the air, surreal and out of place. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that no one else seemed to see it.
The name displayed on the screen looked… stylish. Cool. Domineering, even.
It had appeared the moment he heard that brat's voice—Liam, was it?